five-o'clock blasts from the Rattler, as it stole the ore from
beneath their feet. It was the audible proof of Bully Presby's theft.

"Joan! My Joan!" he said, leaping forward. "I should have spared you
this!"

But she did not answer. She was leaning back against the wall of the
tunnel, her hands outstretched in semblance of that cross whose name
was the name of the mine----as if crucified on its cross of gold. The
flaring lights of the candles in the sticks, thrust into the crevices
around, lighted her pale, haggard face, and her white hands that
clenched themselves in distress. She looked down at the giant who was
slowly lifting himself from his knees, with his clear-cut face
upturned; and the hollows, vibrant with silence, caught her whispered
words and multiplied the sound to a sibilant wail.

"It's true!" she said. "It's true! You didn't lie! You told the truth!
My father--my father is a thief, and may God help him and me!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE BULLY MEETS HIS MASTER

The ache and pain in her whole being was no greater than the colossal
desire Dick had to comfort and shield her. He rushed toward her with
his arms reached out to infold, but she pushed him back, and said
hoarsely: "No! No! I sha'n't let you! It would be an insult now!"

Her eyes were filled with a light he had never seen in them before, a
commanding flame that held him in check and stupefied him, as he tried
to reason why his love at that moment would be an insult. It did not
dawn on him that he was putting himself in the position of one who was
proffering silence for affection. All he knew was that everything in
the world seemed against him, and, overstrained to the breaking point,
he was a mere madman.

"You brought her here?" he hoarsely questioned Bill.

"I did."

"And told her that her father was under us?"

"Yes."

"And that I was to be kept above ground?"

"Of course, and I had a reason, because--"

He did not finish the sentence. The younger man shouted a furious
curse, and lunged forward and struck at the same time. His feet,
turning under a fragment of rock, twisted the directness of his blow
so that it lost force; but its heavy spat on the patient face before
him was like the crack of a pistol in that underground chamber.

Bill's hands lifted impulsively, and then dropped back to his sides,
hanging widely open. The flickering candlelight showed a slow red
stream emerging slowly from one of his nostrils, and runnin